


The Fall

by Zayrastriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Lucifer isn't a douche, M/M, Resolved and deresolved sexual tension, but still kind of, sort of, standing around in deserts because apparently that's fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 11:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Michael is the centre of Lucifer’s universe, God is the centre of Michael’s and humanity is the centre of God’s.  <br/>Somewhere in between turning Lilith and raising Death, Lucifer laughs at the irony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at 'let's do some writing everyday'. First of my 'I ship this so let's write about it but I don't actually have the energy to write anything long so one-shots yay' series.  
> (That is a pathetic series title.)  
> Enjoy <3

Lucifer can’t remember a time he hasn’t loved Michael.  He can’t remember not wanting those searing eyes turned towards him feeling the brush of his brother’s grace against his soul.  He can’t imagine ever getting sick of those rare moments when Michael laughs and Heaven rings in exultation at the sound.

He rather thinks that his Father created him _to_ love Michael; unreservedly, with everything he has that isn’t busy loving his Father.

(In the end it’s his downfall; because if Lucifer has to think to remember to love Gabriel and Raphael, and has to reach deep within himself to muster caring for the multitude of his other brethren, it’s hardly surprising humans broke him.)

 

~

 

Contrary to popular belief, Lucifer doesn’t fall.

That is to say, he isn’t thrown from heaven in a mighty battle that leaves him powerless, caged (though that’s what everyone whispers, what they write down in those idiotic books for the sheep his Father has chosen over him). 

(Besides, that all comes after, when his Father isn’t choosing anything but to leave them all to fight themselves into oblivion.)

 _Not a bang, but a whimper_ \- (where he walks out and doesn’t realise that he’s never going to be able to go back).

 

~

 

It’s also a lie that Lucifer has anything to do with Eve’s choice.

He doesn’t fall till long after that, after all; not till he’s explored the foreign realm of carnal pleasure to its fullest extent with his brother, not till he’s had enough to know it’s all he wants. 

Michael’s whispered reprimands-turned shuddering gasps as Lucifer worships every inch of his body, while their graces intertwine and meld till they’re _one_ (as they should be).   Hours and days spent crafting forests and beaches on the outskirts of Heaven with Raphael; laughing as Gabriel pulls prank after prank on outraged, self-conscious young angels.

And always, the warm contentment of their Father’s love.

 _Of course something was going to go wrong_.

 

~

 

He knows their Father has found out when, as he lies sated in the warm cocoon of Michael’s arms – not sleeping, of course, but Michael has become fond of silencing his mind in imitation of human rest and Lucifer can’t deny him _anything_ – that familiar, immense consciousness brushes against his.

_Lucife-_

In an instant he’s crossed the Fields, is standing outside the Citadel, and _letmein I’msorry Father please_ -

But it’s too late.

Michael asks him what has happened, confusion tinging his song, and Lucifer can only think that at least they’ll be together in disgrace.

 

~

 

It takes one moment; one moment before anyone’s bothered recording time, one moment of watching a filthy humanapemonster slam into the bruised bleeding body of a half-dead female, her cries reaching even he, the most indifferent of his family to the affairs of his Father’s new toys.  One moment, and it’s enough.

 _Disgusting_ , he thinksfeelssays, _how can He expect us to love these creatures_ -

The Choir sings reproach and chastisement, wordsthoughts blending in a cacophony of _noise_ but he doesn’t care because he’s _sick of it all_.

 _I need to think/Leave me alone_ , and with a thought the Choir’s pushed to the smallest corner of his mind as he _waits_.

But Michael doesn’t speak to him.

Puzzled, Lucifer pushes harder.

 _Michael_ ,

_I’m busy, Lucifer, leave me alone,_

_Where are you?_

_Busy,_

_I need you,_

_I’m with Father/be quiet_

Their _Father_ , who can’t care for them if he wants them to care for repulsive primates and Lucifer hasn’t seen his Father since-

_I’m a good son._

He heads towards the bridge, ignoring the voices echoing in his soul, cajoling and threatening in equal measure –

 _what are you doing, brothercomeonLucifer calm down willyouneed to calm downcomeback_ (Gabriel, tentative but persistent)

 _/come back, you fool, don’t be such a child_ (Raphael, stern and controlling)

 _/disobedience_ (Zachariah, pretentious little twat who hasn’t yet learned how to speak to an archangel)

 _/I don’t understand what’s happening, Lucifer, why are you goingplease don’t go (_ his newest brother, little Castiel, who doesn’t understand but sees more than any of the others) –

(and he especially doesn’t notice the noticeable lack of one voice, the one for whom he’d do _anything_ ).

It takes him what feels like a while (but no one’s measuring, so he supposes it might have been a half-instant or an eternity) to realise that this is the first time an angel has left Heaven without their Father’s permission.

 

~

 

The desert is calm; it burns as strongly in the day as it chills at night.  Not that he would know, if not for the human body he’s somehow managed to squeeze his being into.  The vessel (soul now long long gone, quashed easily by the overwhelming force of Lucifer’s Grace) feels the weather, and so Lucifer does too, in a distant, second-hand sort of way.

Part of him wants to go home; keeping himself in this form takes effort in a way he didn’t think it would, and though Lucifer is fairly sure his real vessel would be slightly more accommodating, as far as he can tell the human won’t be around for several millennia at best.

 _I’m a good son_.

He doesn’t go back.

 

~

 

He’s not sure how long he’s been there when Raphael shows, elegant features of the young, pregnant woman he’s taken twisted in annoyance.

“Have you finished sulking yet?” his brother asks brusquely.  “Come home.”

Lucifer ignores him.

 

~

 

The next time, it’s Gabriel; slender and androgynous with dancing vivid green eyes, and looking altogether eerily _true_ to himself.  “Bred this one especially,” Gabriel says with a shrug, obviously reading the flicker of surprise across Lucifer’s grace.  “I’ve got a couple of years to serve down here, I plan to look good doing it.”

Lucifer smiles, but he doesn’t reply. 

Perhaps he doesn’t know how to speak anymore; he wouldn’t know, because he hasn’t spoken in a few millennia.  Of course, he can still feel the Host, humming in his head as a soothing background soundtrack to his thoughts.

“Anyway,” Gabriel yawns ostentatiously, “you’d better come home with me when I’m done; Raphael doesn’t appreciate any of my jokes, all the littlies are too scared to do anything but laugh when they think I want them to, and Michael’s been a bloody _nightmare_ -“

He doesn’t flinch at the mention of Michael’s name but Gabriel notices anyway.  The humour fades from his eyes.

“Come home, Lucifer,” he says quietly.  “He misses you.  We all miss you.”

 _I’m a good son_.

 _Not till Michael asks me himself_.

It isn’t till Gabriel grits out a “ _Fine_ ” and vanishes that Lucifer realises he thought that aloud.

 

~

 

It’s all messed up inside his mind, he realises sometime in the 4th millennium BCE.  He won’t go back till Michael asks him and he won’t go back till his Father wants him back ( _loves him/them more than a few hundred thousand primitive creatures_ ) and Michael won’t ask him till he knows their Father wants him, and his Father won’t want him till he wants humanity.

(Which will never happen because they’re stealing their Father away from him and Michael and his Father is stealing Michael away from him.)

If there’s one question that his absence has answered for him; it’s which one hurts the most.

(No contest.)

It’s all messed up, and it’s so perfectly clear.

 

~

 

He doesn’t suppose anyone would believe him if he told the truth, and so millennia later when he’s finally released, he doesn’t.

But the truth, the real solid truth, is that he creates the first demon because he’s _lonely_.

(And Michael hasn’t come to find him yet, and the desert can only be interesting for ten thousand years.)

Truth be told, Lucifer doesn’t _create_ Lilith; he amplifies her into something more as her soul makes to leave her body, battered and bruised from the stones still littering the ground where she was raped, again and again.

 _Filth_ , he thinks, and she agrees.

 _Destroy them all_.

When Alastiel falls, Lucifer hands him back his grace, still covered in the remnants of the rock it buried itself into.

“We’re going to fix it,” he promises, watching the once-white wings heal sluggishly into a dirty brown-black.  “We’re going to fix everything, and we’re going to _destroy them_.”

Alastiel smiles wearily, and when Lucifer catches a quickly hidden glimpse of Zachariah screaming as he’s engulfed by white-hot flames, he can’t bring himself to correct his brother.

 

~

 

 _Lucifer_.

If he were human, he’d bite his lip; bite till he could feel the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, because he’d need something to distract from the _pain_.

He’s not human though.  So he blinks, once, and can’t help but be grateful that his Father didn’t think to make them with tear ducts.

_Michael._

Almost as though it’s some horrible, precisely choreographed dance, they step forwards, away from their armies and toward each other.

Michael looks much the same, though they haven’t seen each other in millennia.  He looks calm, relaxed, as though he’s not got a sword in his hand, or armour encasing his limbs; as though more than thirty of his brothers aren’t ready to kill him.

He wants to say _I missed you_ , but he can’t.

 _I’ve missed you_ , Michael says quietly as they stand barely inches apart, and he can’t help but flinch in surprise.

 _I love you_ , Lucifer wishes he could reply, but he settles for _I miss you too_.

The truth of that escapes neither of them; this isn’t a reunion, because reunions don’t involve armies standing ready to fight at the gates of Heaven.  What Lucifer misses is something he’ll never get back, and the thought makes him so unbelievably, painfully _angry_.

 _You didn’t come to find me_ , he accuses his brother, his flawless, irresistible brother.

 _You didn’t come home.  Father would have forgiven you, but you didn’t come home_.  They’re so close now, their graces reaching out for _something_ that’s so familiar, even now after all this time.

 _It was too late_ , Lucifer thinks.

Michael reaches out suddenly, slender fingers wrapping around Lucifer’s forearm, and that’s when Lucifer knows.

 _I love you_ , the gesture says, as Michael tells him that _it’s still not too late.  Come_ home _._

He’s so tempted.  So so tempted to call off the battle; to release the souls of his demons (even fragile, broken, beautiful Lilith)-

 _Father will forgive you_.

 _There’s nothing to forgive_ , he thinks angrily, and as he steps back, his dream shatters with the loss of contact with Michael.

 _I love you_ , Lucifer says quietly and clearly, raising his sword.

 

~

 

They tell him it’s almost here, that it’s been four millennia but it’s finally coming (his release). 

He hasn’t been keeping track of the time, not conventionally, because what _is_ convention for an angel (he’s an angel, always, no matter how many twisted, foul demons he’s forced to create)? 

Lucifer counts time in memories.  Of Heaven, of his Father (and bittersweet they are), of Gabriel, of Castiel-

(It’s a lie to say that he thinks of Michael sometimes, because he can’t remember a single instant when Michael hasn’t been in his thoughts, his name a mantra.)

 

~

 

He waits, fidgeting slightly (perhaps a habit of Sam’s, perhaps his attempt to shake off the lingering queasiness that the still-strong presence of Sam’s soul causes.)  This time, Lucifer can feel the cold the way he imagines humans feel it; a chill that permeates through his jacket, through his skin and blood, that seeps into his bones.

It’s his grace that reacts first when his brother arrives.  It _sings_ , loud and triumphant.

 _We’re together again_ , it tells him smugly as he turns to see – not the right Winchester, of course, but enough.  A Winchester with enough of Sam’s features that Lucifer doubts anyone would find a declaration of fraternity surprising.

 “It’s good to see you, Michael.”

A lie.  It’s _bad_ , bad in a way that he could never get enough of.

 

**Fin**


End file.
